Sick

As-Seen-On-TV-Logo-72-1024x802

So, I ate something weird on Christmas Eve and got some sort of bug.  I blame the ranch dressing that my sister offered for the salad that expired in AUGUST.  My one attempt at semi-healthy eating was ultimately my undoing.  Just because my sister’s household does not consume ranch by the gallon weekly as does ours.  Yet.  Give her kids a few years.  Then, it will be a food group.  You know, one of the basic five kid food groups:  ranch/ketchup, chicken nuggets, mac n cheese, waffles/pancakes, and of course, dessert.

So one bite of bad ranch dressing and I got hit fairly hard later that evening with the vomit bug.    And no, sister, it couldn’t possibly be the insane amount of rich food that I had been consuming prior to that evening.   The one pound of caramel corn, chocolate covered everything snack mix I consumed at work like it was my job.  The crazy good meat and cheese tray.  The meatballs.  The kielbasa.  The truffles.  The cake.  The cookies.  The spinach dip.  And that was just lunch.

Anyways, Christmas morning I managed to slug my way to the couch to watch half-heartedly while my kids enjoyed their loot from “Santa.”  (Fat bastard.  Why does this guy get all the credit?   Mark was up until 2 a.m. wrapping, while I puked my guts out in the bathroom.  No fat man in sight.  Where were his elves when we plucked down hard earned cash amongst the other half-crazed, tired parents trying to stay on a Jelly-Of-The-Month club Christmas budget while delivering yet another Christmas of their dreams? Then having to play along about how awesome Santa is and answer all “How did he know I wanted this?” questions.    I know, I am a killjoy, and I should just enjoy it because the magic doesn’t last long, but I really hate that guy.  And really, my mom and dad should have hated him too, because he OUTDID himself in our day, and I figured my parents were lazy and cheap for only buying clothes.  Yeesh.  Mom and Dad, I am so sorry!  You guys totally rocked, and now in hindsight, Mom’s annual lock herself in the laundry room cryfest totally makes sense.   I totally get it Mom, and I’m sorry, YOU were awesome.  Not some non-union sweatshop guy in a red suit.   Crap.  Didn’t I start this with a parenthesis?  Sorry for tangent.  And I am ending……now).

Anyways, I digress.  I got to spend Christmas Day afternoon and evening all by myself, which normally for me would be awesome, but come on, even the most intense introverts crave a little family and friends on Christmas.  Therefore, I was bummed and feeling like crap.  So, I set up nauseous camp on the couch proceeded to watch Nativity documentaries on the History Channel, switched up with TBS’s A Christmas Story Marathon.  However, the best part was the in between, which brings me to my point.  Infomercials.

Being that I am mostly a Netflix and Hulu girl, I don’t see a lot of these anymore.  And They. Were. Awesome.  SO – here is my new revised Christmas list for 2013.  Forget the cleaning person and personal chef.  I NEED a Wax Vac!!

The Wax Vac

$T2eC16FHJGkE9no8fzC,BQlTE(lpJQ~~60_35

Scene:  Enter idiot man ramming a Q-tip deep into his skull and then screaming in pain when he hits brain. And then looking at the Q-tip like it’s the enemy, not the idiot with opposable thumbs.  Enter the Wax Vac, a gentle vacuum that sucks the sticky wax magically out of your ear.  Awesome.

First off, maybe I have abnormal earwax, but how hard does this thing have to suck to get this pretty sticky substance off my ear?  I don’t want to vacuum my ear drum out, which defeats the purpose, and really doesn’t sound safer than sticking a stick in there.  Then, they say it’s easy clean.  Ever try to this stuff off your finger, let alone a machine?  Gross.

But, still I kinda want one.  It would be cool in the summer for water in the ears.  Wax Vac, I am open for endorsement talks if this intrigues you.

The Cloud Pillow

sobakawa-cloud-pillow

Developed by ancient Asians centuries ago, this has some sort of weird bubble like material that keeps your head and neck perfectly aligned and never goes flat.  Magic again.  This pillow improves sleep, sex lives, and sings lullabies in your ear until you fall into a deep and peaceful sleep.  This pillow will also reach out and smack any needy child or pet that wanders to your side of the bed in search of disturbing you from your peaceful slumber.   It creates an invisible barrier between you and your spouse from any “accidental” farting or bed/cover hogging.  It will gently hug your ears to stifle any snoring coming from the other side of the bed, which couldn’t possibly be you, because you my dear, are a lady.  Finally, the grand finale, this pillow will have SEX with your husband while you sleep peacefully.

Seriously again, I want this.  What if it works?  What if this is the reason I am a bitch?  Years of bad pillows.

The Orgreenic

Orgreenic

Ever cook eggs for over an hour and then wonder why it sticks impossibly to the pan?  Me too!  The ceramic pan is green and therefore totally organic and safe, because you know if you paint asbestos green, it’s totally safe too.

One question though…does it still not stick if you don’t actually use it?  Do you have to cook yourself or does it cook for you?  Because really, if it doesn’t come with my previously requested personal chef (one who doesn’t require sexual favors for cooking like my current one does), I am probably not going to be using this thing.

The Cushion for your Tushion.

00381024-394954_catl_290

Need more motivation to stay sedentary?  Try the Forever Comfy Cushion!  I want this totally.  I want to be the crazy lady at work who has a cushion under my butt because getting up every hour to un-numb my butt is just too much of a chore.  Like I need any more reason NOT to get off my ass.   But, seriously, I would totally buy this.  My butt may have more cushion lately, but it still goes numb while typing endless letters and emails for my two-finger keyboard pecking agents for 9 hours a day.  And it tingles with disuse during the tens of minutes I sit here every few days writing this eloquent, thought-provoking, and inspiring blog.  Plus the excruciating 20 minute commute I make twice daily from work to home is a real cheek killer.

So there you have my new and updated list.  It can mostly be yours for $19.99, but if you call now, you can get a second one COMPLETELY FREE, plus $35.99 shipping and handling.

PS – Don’t let me forget to tell you the funny tampon story sometime soon.  HA!  Cliffhanger!  Leading you on by a string….ewww…. It’s not gross, it’s hilarious I promise.  And could only happen to me.

Advertisements

MIA

Sorry I’ve been MIA this week. Christmas, a full week of work, holiday parties, more food inhaled than humanly possible, combined with a lingering sadness that I can’t quite kick has made the desire to be funny put on the back-burner.

But, my sister is sitting in a hospital room with one sick kid at home with Dad and the other with her in a cramped, non-private room getting roto rootered every so often, just enough so that he screams bloody murder and wakes up just enough to be a squirmy, not-feeling-so-bad 7 month old in a tiny cage of a crib so that she can do nothing but try desperately to entertain him until the next round of suctioning. (which, by the way is awesome. Why don’t they pass these things out to go home? Best snot suckers EVER.). So for her, I have to try to come up with something funny to lighten the mood right? OK, here goes…

I think motherhood is off the table for the moment, as I can’t quite stop kissing on my kids and being thankful for them. So… let’s find bigger game…

Marriage? I can give a brief taste of the book I just finished that I mentioned a few weeks ago. Created to Be His Help Meet was all sorts of fun to read and has made for quite the after the kids go to bed conversation topics.

In a nutshell, Debi Pearl hates women. We are not supposed to have fun, leave our children or our husbands. EVER. Babysitters make you a horrible mother. Don’t even get me started on how much I am a failure for working. If she had her way, I’d be stoned on sight.

In addition to homeschooling our delightful children who are never to leave our sight, we should do all the household work…changing light bulbs, mowing the lawn, taking out trash, painting the shed, fixing the car, hand whittling kitchen chairs, all so our husbands can relax after a long hard day’s work. Not only should we do these things, but we should do them joyfully. Joyfully! HA! THEN after a full day of sheer joy, we are supposed to jump in bed and please him sexually so that he doesn’t stray, as men are wont to do if they aren’t pleased in every way. Yes, ladies, this book has been put in the freezer many a night, which was then followed by a stiff drink and leaving the dirty dishes to SIT in all their glorious dirtiness.

Needless to say, I can’t quite accomplish this attitude in my home. Let’s face it, even if I wanted to turn over a new leaf and be a reverent, joyful slave, my husband would NEVER be able to take me seriously. When you have a solid 17 year relationship built on mutual sarcasm and self-deprecation, being that positive just doesn’t quite fit my personality.

And really, who wouldn’t want me this way? Doesn’t every husband need a bit of ball busting every now and again? Can you imagine if NO ONE ever told him he was wrong? G would be wearing purple polka dot pants and bright pink plaid shirts with mismatched socks every single day. Will would never be allowed to bring his sexy back, put a ring on it, or vogue in any way. He would just be this mash of jerky offbeat gyrations my husband calls dancing. (I love you honey, I worship at your altar of smartness, but let’s face it, Channing Tatum you are not on the dancefloor.)

If I was a reverent super happy wife, who would teach my kiddos the greatest defense mechanism ever….sarcasm? When my husband teases me for being a “rich girl,” and then I break out my tiny violin (which totally does not annoy the piss out of him) when he talks of how SOOOO poor he was, we help to put each other in perspective with a little touch of dry humor and teasing. All in good fun I say.

Ms. Pearl, the ultimate help meet, would just listen and nod enthusiastically when my engineer husband makes the simplest task the most complicated, confusing, full set of blueprints, series of instructions that you ultimately give up and fall asleep while he is “explaining” how this will work instead of just doing it.

She would kiss his feet just for hanging the curtain rods a few inches from the top of the ceiling so the bottom of the curtains have at least a foot of clearance betwen them and the floor.

She would revel in his awesomeness when he proposes gunmetal gray floors because they won’t ever show dirt. She would lovingly buy his 30 different types of saws while she enjoys her one pair of sensible black shoes.

She would of course be supportive of his NEED for fog lamps on his truck while you have a phone my great grandma would laugh at.

OK – so maybe I am not the ideal wife, but let’s face it, I am WAAAY funnier than Ms. Pearl will ever be. I think that’s a much better arrangement. What do you think honey??

20130205-124600.jpg

For Connecticut

I kissed my kids goodbye this morning.  Told them I loved them and to be good for Dad and at school.  “Will, I want to see all smiley faces.”  “Grace, please be good for Dad today, no whining please.”  I kissed my sleepy husband and left for work, secretly relieved that my morning duties were over for the day and Mark would get them up, dressed, fed and out the door.  I spent the morning thinking about how busy our weekend would be, the crowds and rush of the Holiday Show tonight at school, all the million things I had to get done as the days until Christmas dwindle down.

 

 

So caught up in life, much like most every parent this Friday morning, two weeks before Christmas, that I might have forgotten to kiss my family and tell them I loved them.  To give them one last hug even though I was running late, because it never occurred to me that this might be the last time.  It’s just a Friday in December and my kids are young and I have so much to do.

 

 

My heart is broken for the parents in Connecticut who had the same exact morning I did, only to have their worlds destroyed in a horrible senseless instant.  To know that unwittingly, they gave their last kiss, their last hug to their child or favorite teacher.

 

 

Without any way to explain why this happened, all I can do is offer my prayers and thoughts to the families whose lives will never be the same.  Love your kids and families tonight. I know I did.

Created to Be His Help Meet: Mark Your Calendars…This Sh!Ts about to go Down!!

Created to Be His Help Meet: Discover How God Can Make Your Marriage Glorious: Debi Pearl: 9781892112606: Amazon.com: Books.

 

So, my cousin thought she’d  give me a book to eviserate after my mention of one of our church ladies being obedient to her husband and being thankful for it.   So no one goes after her, she gave it to me as a joke, not because she believed a word of it.

 

I am 6 chapters in, and have run the gamut of emotions with this book.  A lot of it was laughing out loud and yelling, “Mark!  Read this part!”  Some of it is utter disbelief that in 2012, almost 2013, there are people still out there who believe this pile of crap coated with crazy.

 

Oh, it’s on Ms. Pearl.  It’s so on.  If I am taking a break from my awesome smut collection to be “taught” by you, please know that a most awesome book review will be coming your way shortly.

 

I hope the rest of you enjoy.  If God is actually like the God within her pages, He will not be pleased.

 

It’s coming, be warned….

All I want for Christmas is……yoooouuuu.

Every year, I am asked what I want for Christmas.  I hate this question.  Here’s why.

I don’t have specific things I want.  Nothing that neatly fits into a $25 to $50 category that everyone is aiming for.  And, please, I beg you, don’t try to buy me clothes.  It usually ends up like this…

This my friends is AUTHENTIC Abercrombie & Fitch.  I swear...

This my friends is AUTHENTIC Abercrombie & Fitch. I swear…

And sure, I’d like a new kitchen, carpet, furniture and redone bathroom, but I don’t think that’s quite what you’re asking.  So, I thought this year, I’d tell you what I really want…

My REAL Christmas List

  • A housekeeper.  I am not super picky with this one, but it is my No. 1 want.  Someone to clean my house every week.  Someone I can trust because I don’t want to be there when they are, because then I would feel guilty that I was just laying around not helping.  I’m not asking for Alice from the Brady Bunch, just someone to polish the turd that is my house.  (Don’t tell Mark, he hates when I say that, but really, see the above home improvement wish list.)
  • A cook.  Maybe this is No. 1, because if there’s one thing I hate more than cleaning, it’s cooking.  I want to open up the fridge and viola! delicious, healthy meals and snacks.  A Mrs. Jones to my Christian Grey if you will.  No more nachos and Fruit Loops for me.  REAL FOOD.
  • I would like my hair to do this…
Why does the style go away with the cape??

Why does the style go away with the cape??

when I do it.  Or I would like to pay my beloved hair stylist to come do my hair every morning.  Yes, it’s short, but that doesn’t mean it looks the way she does it after an appointment.  Seriously, how hard can 2” of hair be to style?  Apparently, very.  Plus, she also has the same intense love of smut that I do, and how fun would those conversations be every morning?!

  • I would like to do this…
Heaven
Heaven

every year.  Sigh… Outer Banks is Mark and me’s perfect vaca.  Big house, pre-approved family and friends (no stranger mingling), absolutely no plans and nothing to do but swim in the pool, go out to eat, and lay on the beach.

  • I would like someone to help me organize this…
Don't call hoarders, please...

Don’t call hoarders, please…

Honestly, we look like hoarders, but really it’s just artwork we have to wait to hide in the trash until after the kids go to sleep, because the look on their faces when they accidentally find it in the trash is too much to bear.  It’s also bills we don’t want to pay, magazines we don’t have time to read, and receipts, tons and tons of receipts.  Because if we throw them away, we will totally need proof that we ate that double cheeseburger from McD’s.  Really?  Isn’t the proof on my ass already?

  • Speaking of ass proof, I would love a personal trainer.  Jillian Michaels coming to my house every day to kick my butt out of bed, saying mean things to me and making me lose the food baby I so lovingly cradle in ALL pictures for some reason.
  • And while we are dreaming, maybe just one day, one itty bitty day, to do whatever the hell I want.  No one needing anything, no chores, no laundry, just me, my Kindle and/or Netflix and Hulu.  Heaven.  I wish all that spare time in my childless 20’s wasn’t so wasted on …. God, what did I do back then with all that freakin time?  I know I thought I was busy, but for the life of me, I can’t tell you what the heck I was doing…

So that’s my real Christmas list.  But that melon baller would be just as awesome too.  How else do you make cookies?

Kind Of Deep Thoughts By Jen….

Yeah, I wouldn't take advice from me either.

Yeah, I wouldn’t take advice from me either.

“MOOOOMMMM!”  ….   “Whaaat?”  ….  “MOOOOMMMM!”    My oldest is screaming through the house, while Dad’s on the pooper and I snuck downstairs to clean some cat poop while the chokeable Dora is making its evening run.  Quit staring at me, answer your own questions!  It’s creepy.   Is something wrong I think?  It’s only been two minutes since I was last upstairs, but this sounds frantic.  So, I stop scooping and run upstairs.  “What?” I huff out of breath, because you know, 13 stairs are a toughy.  “What’s 5 + 2?”   Of course.

 

 

So, I’ve been MIA for a few days.  Been in a bit of a mood.  Either pissed off or sad for no reason.  Yep, you’re right men, it’s totally my period.  (Really it kinda was.  Even Mark left me alone.)  So, I decided to stay quiet.  Didn’t want to write something snarky and mean, although trust me, it would have been entertaining, and I did write some feelings I was having about the fact that cancer seems to rearing its ugly head EVERYWHERE, but Mark said it made him want to jump off a cliff and could I end on a happy note?  At this point with that subject, no I can’t, so I’ll save that little gem for another day.  Let me know when you’d like a good depressing, there is no hope, is there a God and if so, WTF is His plan post.  Never?  Yeah, I thought so.

 

 

Hold on, I’m getting some pretty detailed instructions on how to wipe a butt.  Apparently, there is a procedure and very detailed rules…..

 

 

OK, I’m back.  I think I did it right.  God that kid scares me.  He is about six months away from being smarter than Mark and me, or maybe he is already at 6 and I am just too proud to admit it.  And yes, I wipe my 6 year olds butt, but I’ll take that stigma over track marks and itchy assholes any day.

 

 

I wonder if I’m hovering, if I’m one of those so-called helicopter parents.  Maybe a little.  A few weekends ago, Mark was with the kids at a function without me, and he came back with a story that Will was being punched and kicked by another kid during some rowdy play that got out of hand.  My mother bear instinct came out and I was ready to go right then, but Mark told me that while he kept an eye on the situation, he wanted to see how Will would handle it himself.  Apparently, he did great.  He stayed calm, didn’t freak out and told the other kid that he wasn’t playing by the rules.  Not sure what happened after that, but my guess is they went back to being friends and playing their game.  Now if I had seen that happen, you’d bet your ass I’d be up and in the middle of it.  Mark did the right thing and took a breath and let Will spread his wings a little.  It all turned out OK and maybe Will learned something about how to handle a situation that might be uglier and intentionally meaner next time.    That’s why I keep my husband around ladies.  As he would say, clearly, he’s smarter.  Until you ask him to spell ridiculous and then he yields his greatness to me for a bit.  We all have our strengths.

 

 

Then Gracie’s teacher tells us she wishes she was more assertive, and she was glad that just last week she stood up for herself for the first time.  And all this time I thought she was a bulldozer who let no one get in her way.  Apparently, that’s just her brother, or me.  Not her dad, cause he’s wicked fun, but even he loses a few battles now and again.  She lets kids take her toys and tell her to do.  NOOOO!!!!!  That’s the downfall of having a bossy older brother.  That’s how I was growing up, and while I didn’t get picked on so much, I did let those that I loved around me get picked on while I tried to fade into the wall.  I also let these strong-willed people define me as a person, and it took a good 20 years before I realized those people have absolutely no idea what they’re talking about, they’re just louder.

 

 

So, what’s next?  Homeschool?  Yeah right.  I am a horrible teacher.  I’d just end up assigning them homework and then doing it for them.  They’d end up hermits who couldn’t conjugate verbs, let alone balance a checkbook, because I would skip math completely.  So, I’m not sure what to do.  I guess face my own fears as they grow up and teach them to be the kick ass person I always wanted to be.  Somehow make them comfortable in their own skin, in love with their uniqueness and quirks.  Aware of their appearance and proud of it, but not be obsessed by it.  Mess them up just enough so they can be funny.  Help them to focus on what’s important and what’s not.  And most importantly, not let the loudmouths define who they are.

 

 

Ga!  See??? I got all bummer at the end.  What’s my deal????

 

 

Until next time…now I have to go make a Christmas list….Grrrr…  How much are maids and full time chefs????